


Housewarming

by NiebuhrAndWiegh



Category: Breaking Bad, Breaking Bad & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 08:08:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9226046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiebuhrAndWiegh/pseuds/NiebuhrAndWiegh
Summary: Saul follows up the cactus gift with a bottle of tequila, but Jesse is already a cocktail of emotions.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cinnabongene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnabongene/gifts).



> I've never written this pairing before, so this was an interesting challenge. It came out a bit less "sweet/cute" than I was intending, haha.

_“Hey, if you’re trying to sell me something, I’ve got four little words for you: Do not call list. However, if you’re cool, leave it at the beep.”_  
  
Jesse flips the phone closed and presses it to his mouth, shutting his eyes tight. If he concentrates, he can conjure up the image of Jane, he can see the way she would stand holding her cigarette, the exact way her lips would say the words of the message. The image starts to fade. He redials.  
  
_“Hey, if you’re trying to sell me something, I’ve got four little words for you: Do not call list. However, if you’re cool--”_  
  
The brassy ding-dong of the bell slices through Jane’s voice, and Jesse looks up toward the door, a flash of anger passing through him at whoever’s shown up to try to yank him back up into the cold. He already had to deal with Saul earlier today, giving him some dumb cactus and babbling about getting Walt cooking again. The possibility that his parents are at the door flashes through his mind, but Jesse isn’t sure what he feels at the prospect, terror or hope or just more indifference.  
  
He hauls himself up off the hard wooden floor and opens the door.  
  
“Heh-hey! Glad to see you’re still home. You’re truly a guy who enjoys the comforts of the great indoors, man after my own heart.”  
  
Jesse rubs the back of his head. “Saul. Uh, what do you want?”  
  
The lawyer holds out a giftwrapped box. “Figured it was time to bring by your real present.”  
  
Swinging his arm limply in the direction of the small cactus on the floor, Jesse asks, “What about that?”  
  
“Bzzt! Gag gift! Ya give someone something that’s not quite up to snuff, watch ‘em put on a show of excitement, then show up later with the real McCoy. Here, happy housewarming take two.”  
  
Jesse bites the inside of his cheek as he takes the gift. It’s shoebox size, with some weight to it, wrapped in red paper with a big gold bow that instantly coats his hand in glitter. He feels obligated to invite Saul inside, although he really doesn’t want him to stay. So he moves back away from the door, leaving it open in a half-hearted welcome.  
  
Saul walks in without any prompting. “Go on, kid, open it! Hand to god, it’s nothing dangerous or living. Or dead, for that matter, heh heh.”  
  
Wincing at the comment, Jesse sits down on the floor and starts working at the ribbon. The paper falls off to reveal a blue box containing a bottle of tequila with a set of shot glasses. It looks reasonably expensive.  
  
“Zafiro Blanco,” Jesse reads. “Uh, right on.”  
  
Saul bounces on his heels. “That’s just my little way of expressing appreciation for my favorite clients. I picked up one for the maestro too, of course, but it’s still out in my car, considering he’s consigned me and you to the back burner for the time being.” Saul shakes his head. “I have a policy of keeping a proverbial ten foot pole between myself and my clients’ private issues, but considering the size of the stakes of all involved parties, sometimes my legal counsel has to include a personal component and, to that end, I would be remiss not to emphasize that I’m seriously concerned about your partner. Last I saw him, he was sitting tight on a Charlie Brown-style pity pot. Which is to say, either he gets cooking again, for his own sake, or I’m gonna have to go over there and remove any sharp objects.”  
  
Jesse sighs and slumps over the bottle. “Dude. I said I’d talk to him. So just cool it, will you?”  
  
Saul holds up his right hand. “I’ve said my peace and shall now forever hold it. But, uh, lookin’ at you, I’d say we’ve got an airplane oxygen mask situation. You’ve gotta get yourself together before you can give Walt the push he needs.”  
  
Jesse knows Saul must think he looks pathetic, sitting on the floor of his big empty house, wearing the shirt he slept in. Shit, his eyes are probably still red and puffy, too. Not that he has any reason to care what Saul thinks. Everyone already knows he’s a fuck up, so what’s one more? And with that thought, Jesse cracks open the tequila and takes a sip straight from the bottle  
  
“Hey, woah woah woah!” Saul darts forward, crouches down, and takes the shot glasses out of the gift box. “That’s the good stuff, okay, you gotta drink it properly.” Shooting a glance around the room, he adds, “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume you don’t have any fresh limes in the kitchen.”  
  
Jesse shakes his head. “Nah, but here,” he pours a shot for Saul, “you have some too.”  
  
“Thanks, but if I’m caught drinking and driving, god forbid, who am I supposed to call?”  
  
“I dunno man, the Ghostbusters, I guess.”  
  
Saul chuckles and accepts the glass, then raises it in a toast. “To your new home and a, um, a fresh start! How’s that?”  
  
Before he can stop himself, Jesse’s eyes flick toward his cell phone. “Uh yeah, sure.”  
  
“Your enthusiasm, it’s deafening.”  
  
They down their shots, then Saul sits down on the floor next to Jesse. “Seriously kid, is there something on your mind? You said you were staying clean, but you look, well, let’s just say you’ve looked a whole lot better.”  
  
Jesse runs his hands down over his face. Of course Saul is just here to manipulate him. For such a smooth guy, he’s awfully transparent. Jesse should really kick him out before this goes any further. But it’s nice, almost, to have someone around. Since Jane, he hasn’t wanted to talk, hasn’t wanted to see anybody, and he still doesn’t. But now that someone’s here with him, he doesn’t absolutely hate it, it isn’t absolutely intolerable. Upon hearing the clink of glass on glass, he opens his eyes to see Saul pouring them each a second shot.  
  
“Salud,” he toasts, “lechaim, kanpai, or maybe just bottoms up.”  
  
Jesse supposes an expensive tequila is wasted on him; he’s not exactly an expert connoisseur. Still, the strong taste and warmth running down his esophagus feel nice, somehow waking him up and relaxing him at the same time. Before Saul starts talking again, Jesse takes the initiative to refill their glasses as soon as they’re empty.  
  
“I would say this ought to be our last,” Saul says as he lifts the tiny vessel to his lips, “considering that after _three tequila_ comes _floor_.”  
  
“Except that we’re already on the floor so that’s kind of, like, irrelevant or whatever.”  
  
“My thoughts exactly, kid.”  
  
As the tequila warms his stomach, Jesse picks absentmindedly at a loose thread on his jeans. “By the way, I wanted to say thanks for helping me get the house and stuff.”  
  
“It was my pleasure! The fact that you’re one of my few clients who pays me without the assistance of a debt collector is thanks enough.”  
  
“I mean, not just getting the house, but dealing with my folks, you know? I didn’t want to do that, so it was nice not havin’ to worry about it.” Jesse looks past Saul to the window. The sun is setting already. It’s amazing how fast the day goes when he isn’t doing anything. He always thought that was supposed to make a day drag on.  
  
“Yeah, that’s one of the best things about lawyers. When you’ve got family you don’t want to deal with outside of Christmas and funerals, and not even then, we’re a solid line of defense.”  
  
“Wish you coulda been around when I was growing up. Like, murderers and stuff have the right to have someone help them in court because otherwise they’ll just fuck up and say the wrong thing, I think sometimes it’s the same way with kids. Like, a kid does some dumb shit and then everything just…” Jesse makes a gesture like a plummeting airplane. Crash and burn.  
  
Saul chuckles as he looks down at his glass. “Hey, hindsight is 20/20. I’m sure there’s stuff you wish you could tell your former self, but that ship has sailed. And our former selves wouldn’t have listened anyway! So the only thing you can do is aim at the future. Eyes on the prize, yeah?” Saul gives Jesse a token clap on the back to punctuate the platitudes, but then gives his shoulder a squeeze that feels genuine. Jesse looks up at Saul’s face and sees a hint of sadness there, like Jesse’s problems have reminded the lawyer of some old regrets. The moment is threatening to move from _slightly awkward_ to _seriously uncomfortable_ , so Jesse breaks the tension by refilling their glasses.  
  
The only pictures he can remember seeing in Saul’s office are of Saul himself. “So uh, do you have a family?”  
  
“Just me! Nation of one, heh heh. Y’know, I knew a guy who tried to do that once, legally declare himself a sovereign nation.”  
  
“Did he do it?”  
  
“Nah, I didn’t take the case.”  
  
“That would be pretty sweet, though.” Jesse lays back on the floor and stares up at the ceiling. “Just living out in the wilderness, like in your own cabin, finding your own food, like salmon and berries and shit. No one telling you what to do, no cops, no money. Quiet.”  
  
Slipping out of his jacket, Saul lays down, too. “Frankly, that sounds like something that would be more appealing to watch on the Discovery Channel than to live. It would get old after a while.”  
  
“I dunno, man. I mean, _this_ has gotten pretty old, y’know?”  
  
“Kid, Jesse, how old are you anyway? 25? Not even?” Saul rolls onto his side. “You’re a potentially healthy young man, at the prime of your life, a homeowner, with decades of fun and fancy free stretching out ahead of you. You can’t be ready to pack it in already.”  
  
Jesse knows he’s been feeling sorry for himself. And he has good reason to. But when he turns his head to shoot an incredulous look at his lawyer, he realizes he feels kind of sorry for Saul, too. Jesse’s not stupid, he noticed how glibly Saul sailed over the admission that he’s just as alone as Jesse is. And now he’s right back to the bullshit. Maybe Saul can’t help it, like he’s talked bullshit so long he’s forgotten English. It’s sort of pathetic, but Jesse can’t blame him. He almost envies that ability, to wrap himself up in a persona, building walls to block out the past, Jane, his family.  
  
On Jesse’s empty stomach, the tequila suddenly hits him, and he’s struggling to hold back tears as the numbness of the last few days starts to melt away. He thinks he’s doing a good job until Saul looks at him with concern.  
  
“Woah, Jesse, are you okay? That’s right, just let it out.”  
  
He pats Jesse’s shoulder as the younger man curls in on himself, unable to prevent the tears that are welling up in his eyes. Jesse feels like he’s watching himself in a movie, his brain still stuck in numb indifference while his body rebels, his face feeling hot as he fights to not start sobbing.  
  
“Hey, there there. You’re gonna be okay.” Saul rubs his back, and it feels so warm and nice, that for a split second Jesse almost believes him.  
  
Finally, Jesse pulls away from the embrace and wipes his eyes on his sleeve, recovering. “Uh, sorry about that. Didn’t mean to get all emotional and stuff on you.”  
  
“Hey, you’re grieving, it happens.” Saul lays back, casually propping himself up on one elbow, his mouth in a tight, _what-can-ya-do_ smile. “You just gotta keep bouncing back!”  
  
And there it is again, Jesse thinks, that easygoing nonchalance. Jesse used to be able to do that, or at least he thought he could. But it’s just gotten so hard to pretend. “How do you do that?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“That thing where it’s like you don’t care about stuff, like you don’t give a fuck about anything but money or whatever.”  
  
“What can I say?” Saul shrugs one shoulder. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”  
  
“How is it a curse?”  
  
“Because no one knows just how much I really care.” Saul’s smile is halfway to a cheesy pout and his tone is so thick with sarcasm that Jesse strongly suspects Saul is just mocking him now. And it hurts, genuinely, because Saul has seen him at his lowest and most vulnerable and his response is, apparently, to poke fun. To sneer at him. Just like Mr. White always does.  
  
Jesse wants to punch Saul right in his stupid fucking smug face and just keep punching until the lawyer is forced to admit that deep down he’s just as miserable and lonely and scared as Jesse is.  
  
Something in him snaps. With a guttural growl, Jesse lunges forward.  
  
Knocking him off his elbow and onto his back, Jesse grapples his way on top of Saul, fingers scrambling to swat away the lawyer’s hands while also keeping his balance. Despite the other man’s greater size, Jesse has the leverage to quickly get him pinned down. Saul’s eyes are wide and his hair fallen completely out of place, and as Jesse looks down at him, he suddenly has no idea what he’s doing. Instead of hitting him, Jesse leans over and smashes his mouth into Saul’s.  
  
Saul’s lips are soft and pliant, but Jesse isn’t interested in taking the scenic route. As Saul chokes out a gasp of surprise, Jesse shoves his tongue into his mouth, roughly exploring the edges of his teeth, the wetness of his tongue. Saul isn’t resisting, but he isn’t kissing back, either. It’s only a few seconds before the lawyer extricates himself enough to talk.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“I dunno,” Jesse pants. Saul doesn’t look angry. Possibly concerned. Definitely puzzled. “Sorry,” Jesse continues. “I guess that was like, not okay.”  
  
“Look, what is it that you want here?”  
  
Jesse just stares down at him, trying to work out an answer. He wants to feel something. To not feel anything. To make Saul feel something. To absorb what it is that Saul has. To cling to him like a life preserver and pull them both underwater. “I want to do that again.”  
  
“Hey, you’re grieving. And you’re three sheets to the wind. There’s no way you really want to play tonsil hockey with your lawyer.” His eyes flick away. “Haha, a young fella like you can do a lot better.”  
  
Jesse grabs Saul’s weird hair tightly and stares at him to force out the image of Jane that Saul’s words conjured up. “Yeah. Maybe I can do better, but I don’t want to. I know what I fucking want, okay?”  
  
And that’s all Saul needs to move his hands up Jesse’s sides and pull him back down onto him. His hands are large and warm and comforting and, this time, it feels genuine, but Jesse still isn’t wasting time. He slides his tongue back into Saul’s mouth as the lawyer’s lips move eagerly against his own. Saul doesn’t taste that great, like tequila and stale office, but Jesse couldn’t care less. He reaches down, gripping his hair, his ears, his red and purple tie, anything he can get his fingers around, and, seizing Saul’s lower lip between his teeth, he pulls, drawing a shuddered moan.  
  
Jesse pants, “Ya like that?” Being able to make Saul react hits some button, buried deep in his brain, that sends a thrill up his spine. He trails his mouth down Saul’s neck, trying to map out what else he likes, trying to get that same reaction again. Jesse nibbles gently under his jaw, then bites down hard, roughly sucking the skin between his teeth to leave bruises.  
  
“Jesus, kid,” Saul gasps, his hips twisting upwards.  
  
Jesse moans into his neck as Saul clutches him tighter, fingers digging into Jesse’s ribs, both men steadying themselves against the other.  
  
Disengaging his mouth from Saul’s soft neck, Jesse sits back and starts fumbling to undo the lawyer’s tie, feeling the other man’s erection growing beneath him.  
  
“Why do you wear all this shit,” Jesse mutters, feeling like he’s all thumbs as he struggles with… “What even is this?”  
  
“Collar pin.” Saul brings his hands up to help Jesse undress him. “It’s okay, take your time. You’re not on the clock here. I got all night.”  
  
Jesse tosses Saul’s tie away then gets to work on his shirt buttons, each motion taking him a couple inches downward. Finally he reaches Saul’s belt buckle and starts working it open.  
  
The older man’s brow creases as he lifts his head up to look at Jesse. “Hey, you’re sure this is what you want?”  
  
Jesse yanks the belt free. “Yo! I know what I’m doin’, okay? Stop acting like you’re all _concerned_ about me.” Reaching into Saul’s pants, Jesse grips Saul’s hard cock. “I want you, okay? I mean, do you really want me to stop?”  
  
“No,” Saul gasps as Jesse works his hand up and down his shaft, “God no! Okay, I’ll quit looking this gift horse in the mouth.”  
  
Jesse continues his ministrations, straddling Saul with his hand on his cock, as he leans down again to capture the lawyer’s mouth in his own.  
  
Saul feels nothing at all like Jane. She was active, passionate and aggressive in bed, but slight and delicate. On the other hand, Saul is yielding; Jesse feels like he could do whatever he likes with the lawyer. Yet at the same time, his body is warm and solid, and Jesse imagines he could burrow into his shoulder and fall asleep feeling secure and safe. It’s a strange thought to have all of a sudden, the desire to be comforted by the man who’s currently moaning helplessly underneath him, who he barely even _likes_ , who’s a part of everything that’s wrong with his life right now.  
  
Jesse moved his face down to Saul’s neck, affectionately nuzzling the bruised skin as one hand fists in the lawyer’s hair and pulls and the other swirls around the head of his cock.  
  
Saul squeezes Jesse’s ass through his jeans. “Jesse,” he gasps urgently, just before coming all over the younger man’s hand, having only lasted a few minutes.  
  
Jesse feels Saul’s whole body go limp under him, his eyes shut as his heavy breathing starts returning back to normal. Then the lawyer’s hands slide around Jesse to the fly of his jeans.  
  
“Ready for your turn,” he asks with a salacious eyebrow wiggle.  
  
“Yeah man,” Jesse pants, crouching over him. “I want it, but…I think I’ve kinda got a case of whiskey dick, you know?”  
  
“Heheh, believe me, I know the feeling!” Saul pulls himself up onto his elbows. “Hey, you want to go grab a bite to eat, reconvene later?”  
  
Jesse nods slowly at first, then a big smile creeps over his face. “Yeah, that sounds awesome! I could totally go for a cheeseburger right now.”  
  
\---  
  
The pearl white Cadillac rolls into a space in the farthest corner of the Carl’s Jr. parking lot. Jesse opens his paper bag, inhaling the aroma of his hot burger and fries (extra cheese and no pickles).  
  
Saul puts the car in park. “I’m sure it goes without saying to take it easy with the ketchup. I just had her detailed.”  
  
Jesse shoots him a look, but softens when he sees the good humor in Saul’s eyes. The lawyer switches on the radio to a classic rock station, then unwraps his own burger, or rather one of those weird fish sandwiches that Jesse never had any interest in trying.  
  
The two men eat their dinner in contented silence, watching the red and white lights of the traffic streak by down the road to the tune of the deep vibrations of decades-old guitars.  
  
“This is nice,” Jesse says as he munches on the last bits of his fries.  
  
Saul smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” No witty remark. No bullshit.  
  
Jesse doesn’t feel like he has to say anything more. He crumples up his wrappers, then swivels his body so he’s leaning back, casual and easy, on Saul’s shoulder and listens as “Ramble On” plays.  
  
Finally, Saul gives him a gentle nudge. “Ready to head back, kid?”  
  
Jesse grins up at him. “Yeah. We’ve got, like, unfinished business.”  
  
Saul’s tone is the vocal equivalent of finger guns as he starts up the Caddy. “That we do!”  
   
  



End file.
